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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23280673">Breathe for two</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshysmm/pseuds/sshysmm'>sshysmm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Cults, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Graham Reid Malett is the Worst, Imprisonment, Isolation, Pregnancy, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, illness during pregnancy, implied eating disorder, referenced domestic violence, the band Au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:49:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23280673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshysmm/pseuds/sshysmm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Setting: The Band AU, August 1984 (mid-Disorderly Knights).<br/>On the verge of her planned exit from Graham Reid Malett’s Nevada ashram, Oonagh O’Dwyer feels faint. She falls unconscious and wakes disoriented and alone, hoping still to find her way to the hospital for the birth of her child. Gradually, her situation becomes clear, and it’s not good.<br/>Terrible quarantine reading, sorry. CW Graham Reid Malett.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Lymond fics set in the Band/'80s AU</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Breathe for two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/word_docs_and_willowboughs/gifts">word_docs_and_willowboughs</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sannyasins were given new names as followers of Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh. Graham Reid Malett received his name, Geetesh (’song of godliness’) from Bhagwan in Pune, but he bestowed Oonagh’s name on her when she joined his ashram: Daso (’the surrendered one’). The male/female honorifics are Swami/Ma. GRM’s references to Bhagwan’s teachings are inspired by <a href="https://www.osho.com/read/featured-articles/other-myself/loneliness-is-pain-alone-ness-is-peace-hmm">this article</a>. Title from the song ‘Eat for Two’ by 10,000 Maniacs.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It seemed to Oonagh, when she woke, that she was back in her own bed.</p><p>The room smelled of pine sap and fresh cotton, the mattress was uneven and there was a deep, earthy silence in the shadowed eaves above her. She blinked at the wooden beams and turned her head to the wall, closing her eyes against the brightness from the window.</p><p>The light made her feel nauseous. Her body felt blurred, its edges drifting just slightly beyond sensation, leaving her fingers and toes cold. It was an effort to lift her hands and lay them over her belly, but they seemed strangely light even so. Oonagh concentrated on her breathing as her head swam, and she was relieved to find that the child's restlessness beneath her touch still felt like a thing of substance.</p><p>The differences in the room were subtle, and she noticed them with dawning unease as she sought the strength and steadiness to move. The light was green, the eaves were cobwebbed in corners, and the fresh smell of the wood was tarnished by the staleness of dust. Oonagh rolled to a sitting position and waited for her surroundings to stop rippling around her, though even through slitted eyes she could tell it was not, as she had thought, her own bedroom.</p><p>Her heart moved sluggishly, but she managed to get her legs over the edge of the bed with short, slow movements. Outside the window she could see nothing but trees: trunks dizzyingly straight and tall, the sky beyond barely visible. Oonagh swallowed, but her throat was dry. Shakily, she stepped towards the window and peered out.</p><p>All she could see was the trees. Just trees: ruthlessly straight trunks rising beyond the level of her window, steeped in the silence of their own browning litter. She was in a wooden building that nestled among them, or by them, close enough that she could not say which it was.</p><p>Oonagh leaned hard on the sill, her whole body exercised by the task of breathing steadily, keeping the fog at the edges of her vision at bay. The sight of the trees did not bring her the unthinking peace it would have done earlier that day: she felt enclosed and yet distant from her surroundings, claustrophobic but frighteningly alone.</p><p>One hand on her belly, reminding herself that she was <em>not</em> alone, she tried to imagine what might have gone wrong. She should have been well on the way to a state-of-the-art medical facility by now, instead she was in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar building - probably still at the ashram, she reasoned - and the dizzy spells she thought were normal suddenly seemed a portent of any number of more troubling things.</p><p>She was glad when she heard floorboards creak with the steps of another person.</p><p>The bedroom door opened with a click and Oonagh saw the radiant form of Swami Geetesh stoop to fill the opening. He bowed his red-gold head, dipped his broad shoulders, covered by a pale pink kaftan, and murmured his gentle greeting. "Ma Daso," his sonorous voice vibrated with concern. "How are you feeling?"</p><p>She strove to keep her voice steady, but it came out much quieter than she intended. "Something's wrong. I don't know what. I don't feel right at all."</p><p>"You need to rest, to be still." The leader of the ashram kept his head lowered; his hands laced before his body in penitence. "I spoke to your hospital doctors, Ma Daso, and they agree that you should not be moved."</p><p>Oonagh's mouth felt dry and she shook her head. She pushed past the surge of defensiveness - he had called on her behalf and that was a good thing. He has sought the opinion of professionals. She could speak to the medical team herself now that she was conscious.</p><p>"Are they sending someone out here, then?"</p><p>His pristine blue eyes flashed up at her before he lowered them again and bit his lip. "They will try. The roads are bad, as you know. The weather is changeable."</p><p>"It's August!" Oonagh blurted out, but the sound of her voice in her own head made her wince, and darkness pulsed in her vision.</p><p>"It is changeable, Ma Daso," he repeated softly. "Lie down. You must be still."</p><p>He opened one large hand and gestured towards the bed. "Your belongings are here. There is a bathroom adjoining. Bed rest is what you need now. Please do as recommended, for the sake of yourself and your child."</p><p>Oonagh leaned against the window ledge, cradling her belly and looking at the floor. "Why not take me back to my room? It was closer, when I collapsed."</p><p>He was silent for a moment until she looked up and saw him stricken with worry. "Oh! I thought you would be happier here. That building is full of people and noise. I believed that both you and the other Sannyasins would worry less knowing that you had full peace in my very own retreat."</p><p>"This is your cabin?"</p><p>"It is. We are quite secluded. You will be far from the business of worldly activity and free to focus and meditate as you prepare for the birth."</p><p>Oonagh's fingers pressed anxiously into the yielding surface of her body, the gesture hidden from his view in the red folds of her kaftan. "Secluded? Sorry, but aren't you always away on workshops or whatever? What if I need help and I'm stuck out here, 'secluded'?"</p><p>Swami Geetesh closed his eyes and drew a patient breath. "My dear. There will be someone in this house at all times, I assure you. I even have a pager, so that I can be contacted when I am on another part of the ashram."</p><p>"Oh. Good," said Oonagh, impressed despite herself. "I've a two-way in my bag, I'll make sure I have your number."</p><p>He smiled strangely and offered to get it from her suitcase to save her bending down. Oonagh watched him move aside the neatly folded baby clothes she had made over the last months and make a sound of disappointment when he found the pager. "Oh, my dear. It looks like my assistant dropped your case somewhat heavily and damaged this. Let me take it and see if Swami Kanz can repair it. He works wonders, you know."</p><p>Oonagh stepped forwards to see how it was broken, but he wrapped his fingers around the screen and offered a gentle touch to guide her to the bed.</p><p>"I'm... I'm actually doing a bit better," she protested, casting a suspicious frown at his hand.</p><p>"Because you have had rest. You must not exert yourself."</p><p>She hesitated. The child was squirming and agitated inside her, but Oonagh wanted to remind Geetesh that she would make her own decisions about her own body.</p><p>"I'd like to speak to the hospital myself." She was not quite as tall as him, but she drew herself up to catwalk height and met his soft cow's eyes with sternness.</p><p>His long mouth curved obligingly, but it seemed little more than an animal reflex. "Later, don't you think? There is no change in your condition since I spoke to them."</p><p>His grip tightened on her arm and Oonagh's lagging heart stumbled to a quicker beat. Arguing seemed a waste of energy, but the corner she felt herself backed into was shrinking as they spoke. "All right. But I'll go and sit downstairs. It's very dark in here."</p><p>"Be content, Ma Daso," there was a rigidity beneath the smooth tones of his voice now. "It is dark downstairs also, and it would be unfortunate were you to faint on the steps."</p><p>She trembled at the thought, and the knowledge that he would feel it through her arm. Oonagh cursed her body's betrayal and stepped towards the bed. He held onto her into the last minute, and she stared him down until he let her go.</p><p>"I will have a chair and a reading lamp brought up," Swami Geetesh told her. He turned so that his back was to her and she heard the latch click again. He cast one final glance over his shoulder, his eyelids heavy with concern, periwinkle irises mournful. "Rest."</p><p>Oonagh did not rest. She sat on the edge of the bed going over the conversation and its details, and quickly remembered to berate herself for letting the pager go. She had not used it since arriving at the ashram - there were times she thought she would never use it again - but its absence seemed to represent another door to the future closing before her, the loss of another link to the world outside the ashram. She swore under her breath and muttered Irish imprecations: "Is ainm Dé! Sacshrathair. Oinseach." The tongue of home sounded strange in her own ears, brittle and small in an alien setting.</p><p>Oonagh bit her lip, her eyes welling with liquid worries. The six months on the ashram had been a blissful, trouble-free time, and decisive action seemed as immense and foreign a task as she could imagine. She tried to focus, but her mind seemed always half-watchful, turned towards her unborn child and the shape of her body, a domed enclosure, both ship and ocean, that she grew more aware of the longer she spent alone with it. Familiar, long-dormant ways of thinking were returning, and she ran her fingers along her scalp and shook her head. She had to keep busy. She had to keep those thoughts at bay. She balked, nauseous, from the idea of simply lying still, imagining herself a puddle of red linen and flesh upon the bed, muscles weakening, melting into the covers.</p><p>With firmness, but no great speed, Oonagh forced herself to stand. She practiced a breathing technique from the ashram's yoga classes and she found that she felt stronger than she had previously. She took four confident steps to the door and turned the handle.</p><p>It resisted, and she tried once more, and once more it resisted.</p><p>Chill spread as though from a wound in her chest when Oonagh rattled and shook the handle and heard the bolt of a lock stand firm in its cradle. For a moment she wondered whether it had been locked in accident as Geetesh had left the room, but her thoughts flew to her pager, to his grip tightening on her arm, and to the heavy, threatening silence outside. In panic, she tugged the doorknob with both hands, her teeth set, before she regained control over herself to lean against it.</p><p>She strained her ears to hear whether anyone had noticed and held her breath as footsteps approached along the corridor.</p><p>"Ma Daso." It was Geetesh's deep, solemn voice.</p><p>Oonagh hesitated. "Hi. Hi, uh. Could you open this door, please?"</p><p>After a moment's consideration, in which Oonagh began to wonder whether he had left without a sound, he said in a tone full of regret: "I'm afraid not. You must rest."</p><p>Oonagh's heart was going like an electric drum in a Berlin basement venue. "Oh. Oh, so, this isn't an accident then? You're ok with keeping a pregnant woman prisoner are you?"</p><p>The light along the edge of the door changed and Oonagh reflexively moved away as he came close to the other side. The door creaked a little as he leaned his weight against it, subtly providing a demonstration of the strength of the lock. "You aren't a prisoner. This is for your own good."</p><p>The certainty in his voice make Oonagh laugh bitterly. "If you want me to believe that I'm not a prisoner, you're going to have to unlock this door."</p><p>"Think of it as a solo ward, Ma Daso. Seek peace. Remember Bhagwan's words: become detached from your mind. The mind is an agent of the crowd, and that is why you fear being alone, because you are allowing yourself to be alone with the judgement of the crowd. You must say to your mind -"</p><p>"Shut <em>up</em>," Oonagh growled, impatience with his slow, cajoling speech cracking like a whip. "Shut up!" She slammed her palm on the door and rattled the handle again. Its movement ceased instantly when Swami Geetesh lay his own strong grip on it from the other side. "This is kidnapping. It's unlawful incarceration. I don't know what you think you stand to gain by doing this - "</p><p>There was a click: hard, cold and heavy, like a gun cocking, and Oonagh stepped away again with terror in her limbs. The door opened and Geetesh filled the space once more as he entered. He shut it behind him firmly, and Oonagh's hands trembled, longing to fly to her mouth. She managed to hold in the whimper of shock and to keep them hidden behind her body.</p><p>His own hands were empty, his smile was unchanged, but his eyes were devoid of emotion. "Precisely. Bhagwan tells us to say 'shut up' to the mind. 'Allow your nature full freedom'. Is it not in your nature to be a good mother, Ma Daso?"</p><p>"I, what?" Her voice vibrated with fear and she hated it. Geetesh stood still between her and the locked door, and Oonagh remembered the gathering physicality of Cormac O'Connor in a fury.</p><p>"If you wish to be a good mother to that child, you must do as I tell you," Geetesh stared her down. "The child is quite important, you see."</p><p>Her breath caught, her teeth dragging on her bottom lip, and Oonagh grasped for the bedpost as she continued to retreat. The stain of suspicion began to spread, but she tried to bat away his words with levity. "What? Ha! The child of a terrorist?"</p><p>Geetesh's smile became something terrible. He folded his hands before his body and his eyes glittered with avarice, though he bowed his head. "You forget that I have spoken to your doctors, my dear. I was able to do so because I knew how to be your emergency contact. I knew it was Francis Crawford whose name you wrote on your admission forms. I know what you hope for, and I hope for it also."</p><p>Oonagh swayed against the side of the bed. If she felt sick again it was not the same as the sickness she had endured on waking. If her hands felt cold and she shivered it was not the same chill as that which had lain in her body earlier that day.</p><p>"Is it in your nature to be a good mother to this child, Daso?" He repeated, dropping the honorific and stepping close enough to come between the thin light and the slanting eaves under which the bed stood.</p><p>With suddenness, Oonagh's knees gave out and she dropped to the mattress, holding her belly protectively and trying not let her body become a clenching, cringing picture of satisfaction to him. It seemed so obvious to her now, that Swami Geetesh was a man who enjoyed power over others. She saw every line and every stroke of pleasure in his features, all worn into place by moments of delight taken in another person's pain. He would not leave now until she had replied, and he would seek to press his control at their every meeting, to ensure she had no illusions about her situation.</p><p>Oonagh thought about how close she had come to being free and anger fought back against the chill of fear. She hid her fury behind the veil of her hair as she turned away, and she tested the apology in her head before letting herself speak it, quietly enough that he would think her cowed.</p><p>"It is, Swami."</p><p>"Good." He towered over her until she lifted the duvet and brought her legs underneath it. Before the door, no longer concerned with hiding his true expression, he repeated his order: "Now rest."</p>
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